


The World According to Keats

by TheAllKnowingOwl



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Apocalypse, Eldritch, Fluff, Gen, Good Cows, Hiatus fic, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Season/Series 05, Scotland, Whelp, does this fic count as accidental baby acquisition?, for about two hours more, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllKnowingOwl/pseuds/TheAllKnowingOwl
Summary: “Martin,” Jon sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Martin, we can’t-““Pspspspspspsp,” said Martin pointedly, still attempting to entice the creature that most definitely Not Tea from the dark space under the dresser. “Pspspspspspspsp.”(A fic in which Martin befriends the Not!Tea, and through the power of gay love, good cows and maybe also a gun, he and Jon save the world.)
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Original Character(s), Martin Blackwood & Original Character(s), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	The World According to Keats

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the s5 trailer and this fanart: https://starapture.tumblr.com/post/613578176727285760/making-friends-with-the-tea

“Martin,” Jon sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Martin, we can’t-“

“_Pspspspspspsp_,” said Martin pointedly, still attempting to entice the creature that most definitely Not Tea from the dark space under the dresser. “_Pspspspspspspsp_.”

A muffled hissing came from deep within the shadows.

“We _ need _ to _ go_,” he reminded his anchor anxiously. “Georgie said- _ Martin, don’t you dare_!”

“_Do you want to come out now_?” Martin sing-songed, waving a chunk of energy bar alluringly. A faint skittering came from beneath the furniture, and suddenly the larger man fell back as an incomprehensible creature leaped out. “Ah!”

“_Martin_!” Jon jumped forward, arms outstretched to tear the beast from his partner, only to falter at the sight before him.

“Jon- it’s fine! Look!” Martin laughed, cradling the many-legged Not!Tea as it munched on the precious morsel hungrily. “It’s brilliant!”

Scritching it under the… Chin, the taller man cooed at the creature as it crooned with delight. All of the fight from before had disappeared entirely, and it appeared to be nothing more than an excitable puppy.

An decidedly _ eldritch _ puppy.

“Are you quite ready to go now, Martin?” Jon murmured exasperatedly, leaning against the door frame as he watched him fondly. It was nice to have something else to focus on than the endless terrors outside, especially when it was someone like Martin.

Now that he’d made sure the creature was alright, surely they’d be able to leave- 

“Yeah, just- gimme a mo’,” Martin muttered, shifting his grip on the happily chittering creature as he stood, and a horrific realisation dawned on Jon as his anchor opened his mouth to say: “I think we’ll call you Keats, alright?”

“_Martin- _ you _ can’t- _“ he began, but the newly-named Keats was already licking the curly-haired man’s face in adoration.

“Sorry, what was that, Jon?” he asked innocently, holding the abomination securely beneath one arm.

Resigned, the Archive sighed, pushing off the wall to head for the front door. 

“Fine,” he muttered, raising his voice so Martin could hear him as he opened it. “But, _ if it does anything- _“

“I know, I know!” Martin laughed, his voice echoing through the hall as he joined him. “We’ll deal with it when we-“

He faltered and fell silent as they watched the previously still patch of mud that had passed for a drive swallow their rickety car whole. Smugly, the rippling soil burped in satisfaction before becoming inanimate once more.

“Well, _ shit_,” Jon swore, slamming the door and leaning on it. His headache tripled in size, and he rubbed his forehead in irritation. “At least the bags were inside.”

“What do we do now?” Martin asked, stroking Keats in a repetitive anxious movement. “It’s not like the trains are running.”

“Don’t worry, Martin,” the Archive replied, his eyes glowing with surety. “_I Know a way_.”

-

“Um,” the burlier man started, holding onto the eldritch abomination in his lap tightly as their seat shuddered repetitively. “I didn’t know the Beholding told you how to do this…”

“I grew up in Bournemouth, Martin,” Jon said simply, holding the reins grimly as the cart rattled on. “Cows aren’t that much different to donkeys when it comes down to it.”

Plodding along the narrow road- admittedly at a faster pace than they’d be able to produce otherwise- Shakespeare lowed calmly, tossing xer shaggy head. The more charitably named Betty snorted beside xem and accelerated slightly.

“Still…” Martin murmured, a little smile playing on his lips as he nudged Jon’s shoulder gently with his own. “You’re a man of hidden talents, Mr Sims.”

“I’m not much of a man anymore…” his companion laughed bitterly, then mustered a fleeting quirk of the lips as he chanced a brief look at Martin. His eyes softened, then they were surveying the road once more. It was an unnecessary pretence, but a comforting one. “My CV is much more diverse than you might think: I spent a good few summer holidays driving donkey traps for the tourists. Cows are much less likely to kick me- not that it would matter at this stage, of course…”

“It would matter to _ me_,” Martin replied stubbornly, glancing away. His gaze fell to Keats nestled in his arms, and he tickled it half-heartedly. “Anyway, Shakespeare’s as gentle as cows get! Betty… I’m not so sure about.”

“Betty is an avatar of the Hunt, Martin,” Jon told him absently, flicking the reins to encourage the bovines to speed up a little.

“_What_?!”

“How fast did you think cows went?” the Archive asked quizzically, staring at him in confusion. “Martin, this cow is going at _ 13 miles per hour_.”

“Seriously?! _ You’re kidding_,” the burlier man challenged him, completely agog. “I know I’m a city boy, Jon, but that’s _ mental_.”

Jon shrugged simply, and returned to steering the speeding cart through the winding back roads of apocalyptic rural Scotland. Distant fires cast dancing shadows on the fierce crags and the river running alongside the road teemed with squamous scraps of darkness. Howls echoed through mountain gullies, and the unseasonably flowering heather swayed invitingly in an imaginary wind.

The whole world was watching them.

Martin shivered, hugging Keats tighter to himself.

“I’d kill for a cuppa,” he muttered, jumping slightly as he felt the creature reform. Looking down, the large man huffed a laugh at the box of Earl Grey perched innocently in his arms. “Bad boy, Keats,” he chided sternly. “That’s not going to work again.”

Begrudgingly, the eldritch abomination abandoned stealth mode as it chittered irritably. Sighing, Martin let a fond smile emerge and tickled it, until it melted into his touch.

“Martin!” Jon twitched at the sight of the viscous monster covering his arms. 

“_Calm down_,” the taller man said exasperatedly. “It’s not going to eat me!”

Taking a deep breath, his scarred companion turned back to the road, guiding a mooing Shakespeare away from a whispering hedge. Almost immediately, Keats squelched back into a more solid form, burbling smugly.

“_Keats_,” Martin said warningly, and the creature settled down.

The next few minutes passed in idle chatter- as idle as conversation can get during the apocalypse- but soon they fell silent as the ruined remains of the village came into view. Compartmentalising it away, Martin had almost managed to forget what had happened to the locals, but now it all came rushing back.

“No delays,” the taller man said as the cart came to a halt in the middle of the street, trying to banish the quiver from his voice. “We get in, take what we need, and then-“

“On to meet Georgie and Melanie,” Jon agreed quietly, taking Martin’s hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I Know, Martin.”

Quickly, they jumped down from the cart, and the scarred man removed Betty’s harness.

“Guard Shakespeare and the cart,” he told her seriously, his eyes glowing green briefly to ensure the avatar understood him.

Then, he turned to his anchor and they hurried to the small village shop, their hands clasped firmly between them. 

Ominously, the door to the tiny general store swung to and fro on its hinges, letting out melancholic creaks with every pass as to beckoned them to the shadowy interior. Clenching his jaw in determination, Jon positioned himself carefully, so that he passed through the low doorway first.

“Is there anything…?” Martin asked, trailing off as he ducked through after him and saw the bloodstained body before them. “_Jon_?”

“No-“ the smaller man choked, tearing his eyes away from the grim sight to scan the rest of the cramped shop. “Nothing supernatural- not yet.”

“Right,” his anchor affirmed, setting his shoulders as he set off further into the shop, tugging Jon behind him. “C’mon- remember what we said? In and out, then on to Georgie.”

“In and out,” the Archive of Terror repeated numbly, shuddering as he followed Martin. “In and out.”

Despite its isolated position and once population of 160 (160.5 if you counted Ms Flaherty’s baby- oh _ no_), for few near-warm months of the year, the crofter’s hamlet had been a stepping stone for hikers on their way further north. The villagers had used it as an opportunity to eke some money out for the long winters, and with the season previously being to start in a few weeks time, the camping supplies were still fresh and well-stocked.

Swiftly, Jon swept a shelf of packaged food into his bag, rummaging around inside until they were as efficiently packed as possible. 

The Beholding powers might not have worked for everything, but it turned out they were pretty useful when it came to real-life Tetris.

Ahead of him, Martin struggled with Keats in one hand and a camping stove in the other, ending up juggling them around until the incomprehensible monster was securely tucked under one arm, with the cooking set under the other. As Keats garbled furiously, the large man hummed happily while he grabbed fuel, pleased with his find. The camping stove was a compact thing, smaller than a shoebox and protected by the metal shell of the cooking pots strapped to it.

All in all, it was roughly the size of a football and much more useful.

He would however, Martin reflected as he grabbed another just to be on the safe side, have to find something for Keats.

Hurrying over, Jon gestured with the stuffed bags of food and they headed out.

“We can reorganise them on the road,” he huffed as they jogged back to the cart and slung their bags inside. Satisfied with her work, Betty mooed at him and allowed the shorter man to harness her. “Make sure we’ve got a mixture in both, just in case something- Martin? Martin!”

“What was that, Jon?” his anchor called, pausing as he crouched over a corpse. 

When he only proceeded to gape at him, Martin got back to work and overturned the body, grabbing something that had been crushed beneath what was previously an elderly woman. Backing away, he avoided the lashing tentacles and jogged back to the cart.

“Go!” the larger man urged, and held on for dear life as Jon snapped the reins and Betty took off at a gallop, Shakespeare valiantly attempting to keep up.

Ignoring the corpse being dragged through a manhole, the Archive stared at Martin in disbelief as the cart raced off wildly.

“What the hell was that for, Martin!?” he shouted over the rushing of the wind as they now travelled at the amazing speed of 20 miles per hour. “You could have _ died_!”

“_JonJonJon_\- Eyes on the road!” Martin gasped, clutching his seat desperately. “I’m fine- don’t worry!”

With the village now out of (mortal) sight, he slowed the cart to its normal pace until it was only careening gently.

“What?! What was so important that you had to raid a corpse?!” Jon cried disbelievingly, though his gaze faltered when he saw his anchor.

“Look!” Martin laughed, bright-eyed and cheeks full of colour as he held up a black leather bag with a squirming Keats inside. “It’s Gucci!”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the RQ Discord server for encouraging me with this fic! It was originally going to be a longer one chap fic, but I wanted to post some fluff before the s5 public release, so here we are!
> 
> Apparently a cow’s top speed is something like 20 mph, so... Thanks google I guess.
> 
> I am [ theallknowingowlagain ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theallknowingowlagain) on tumblr! Come chat!


End file.
